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I’m not what you’d call a balanced person. Well, to put it better, I don’t seem to know what it means to have or find balance in life. Isn’t that the thing we’re all told we should be striving for?
I’m all or nothing. Either life is moving at 100 miles an hour, I’m barely sleeping, and I’m doing All The Things.
Or I come to a complete stop. Usually because someone or something forces me.
For a long time, it was my mental health that drove this clearly imbalanced back and forth. Go all out (mania). Dead stop (depression or anxiety).
This last full stop in mid-stride, damn my plans, was physical. The migraine ripped through my head and brain like fire. And still I continued. Grocery shopping? Check. Emails answered? Check. Rebuilding a goddamn website that makes me wonder why the hell I started this crazy project? Check. Twitter perused? Check.
Until I couldn’t take one step further – physically or metaphorically.
I clamped both hands over my eyes because the light from John Brownstone’s phone was too much. I wondered if I could ask him to breath more quietly because the noise ricocheted around my head too violently. My stomach roiled and rolled as wave after wave of nausea crashed through my body, threatening to suffocate me. He poured me into bed…twice.
The first time only took the edge off the pain, dulling the edges until the fire sat behind my right eye. This was a huge improvement from the night before. The second time, I think I finally hit a genuine deep sleep. The first in a few days. When I woke up, I thoughts hours had passed, maybe the entire day. I wasn’t refreshed – waking up after a migraine always makes me feel hungover – but I felt more human. Hell, I was hungry again which is always a good sign.
I stumbled from one room to the next. I collapsed on the recliner, phone in hand. I felt guilty for doing “so little” for the past 24 hours that I jumped online, made myself useful over at Loving BDSM, and then ignored everyone and everything else.
I don’t know how most people handle enforced rest. Me? I have to find ways to justify it to myself so the guilt doesn’t consume me.
I worked really hard this weekend.
I don’t feel good, and I’m no good to anyone like this.
No one expects me to work 24/7.
Breaks are okay. No, really, they are. Pretend you’ve found “balance.”
When I lay it all out like this, I sound pretty intense. In reality, I’m far worse. And I think my premise was wrong at the top. It’s all still mental. I’m fairly obsessive (diagnosably so). I’m compulsive about the things I consider important. My anxiety is frequently high, especially when the obsessive-compulsive part of my brain takes over. And those things will drive me until they paralyze me.
“I think this migraine was brought on by stress.” I’d buried myself under the blankets, and my voice was muffled, but he heard me.
Two words, dripping with sarcasm, were the realest things about my existence in that moment. I’m an expert in stating the obvious after everyone else has figured it out.
Am I capable of balance? I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe it’s not how I’m wired. For whatever reason, I keep going until I hit a wall – real or otherwise. The thing I wish I could fix is the all-consuming guilt that comes from trying to find equilibrium again.
If I’m going to go full-tilt and at full-speed until I collapse, the last thing I need is to mentally beat myself up during my recovery. If I could figure out how to balance those two things, I’d be happy. As for the mythical “life/work balance,” well, let’s not get too carried away. I’m on a topsy-turvy seesaw that I need to learn how to ride.
Welcome to Wicked Wednesday! As you can see, nothing sexy around here. Now that I’m better from the migraine that kicked my ass for two days, maybe we can get back to the kinky fuckery. Until then, go check out the sexy offerings this week.